


Where Is His Mind

by cornflakes_canvas



Series: It's In Your Head [2]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: Kyle's strange behaviour hasn't gone unnoticed and Dan is a worrier





	1. Anchors

**Author's Note:**

> This is Dan's side of "Where Is My Mind" and will probably, hopefully, consist of three chapters.

_/ /_

 

 

 

_Eighteen months ago._

 

_There was no way for Dan to describe what Kyle meant for the retention of his sanity._

_At least no coherent, logical way._

 

_He had written a dozen or so love songs about the other man, songs that were never, ever going to see the light of day. They resounded solely inside his head, the only proof of their existence being a small number of words the singer was trying to knit together to create something new; lines that encompassed the intensity of his yearning, accompanied by an altogether different melody that slowly unfolded in the silent blackness of the late hour, sensitive to the searing touch of the harsh world outside their flat._

 

_It was another sleepless night, another night spent contentedly in Kyle's embrace until the anxiousness that was always bubbling beneath the surface came rushing back in, getting in the way of a much-needed rest._

_In a moment of clarity and soberness, as he gazed in wonder at the sleeping man, Dan understood – this was real. Kyle was real and he was right there, right next to him, safe and sound in_ their _bed, in_ their _home._

 

_They had moved into the small flat only three weeks prior and Dan was still getting used to the new surroundings, the nooks and crannies that slowly, slowly started to make sense and feel like home._

_It had, first and foremost, been Kyle who had taken matters into his own hands and created a sanctuary in which the lovers were free to be themselves, hidden away from the judgemental eyes of those who disapproved of their relationship._

 

_Dan leaned forward, the white sheets covering their bare bodies rustling softly as he carefully absorbed every single detail of his lover's face. Kyle was breathtaking and the fact that Dan was allowed to watch this perfect image of peace and beauty unfold in front of him every day made him shiver with delight, despite the warmth radiating off of Kyle's furnace-like body._

 

_Far too restless to stay still, Dan dragged himself out of bed as quietly as possible, picking up and slipping on a pair of tracksuit bottoms that lay carelessly discarded on the floor, before he sneaked into their living room, bare feet silent on the astonishingly hideous rug that Kyle had insisted on buying._

 

 _To be fair, Dan had slept a lot worse before Kyle, before he'd had someone who stopped him from trying to finish songs at two in the morning, someone who helped him to actually_ rest _at night and chased away his demons._

 _When they had started sleeping over at each other's flats occasionally, because they couldn't be bothered to go home after a prolonged movie marathon, or because_ “it might start raining, you know” _, Kyle had had to acknowledge that his boyfriend had one hell of a sleep schedule; and to Dan's surprise and initial dismay, Kyle was having none of it._

 

 _They'd had a discussion about Dan's “writing routine” a few weeks ago, which had mainly consisted of Dan desperately trying to explain how exactly his mind_ worked _and Kyle looking like maybe he understood what the other was on about, and_ still _not having any of it._

_He made Dan go to bed at a reasonable hour every night, made him turn off his phone or charge it at the other end of the room, enveloped him in a warm, inescapable embrace, kept him safe and warm. And Dan's ever-present anxiety was still there, tempting, teasing and torturing, but slowly, slowly, it seemed to become more bearable, and he got used to sleeping again._

 

_Except for tonight._

 

_Tonight he was wide awake, thinking about all the platitudes and cliché phrases and declarations of love he had come up with in his infatuation, and musing on the vast amount of words he had tried in vain to forcibly shape into something that could reflect the depth of his feelings._

 

_For once, he cleared his mind and boiled it all down to a simple line, open and honest and holding all the meaning in the world for him. He let the silence and darkness envelop him and deafen all other thoughts, leaving room for this one line only, and he repeated it over and over in his head like a desperate prayer._

 

“ _You cut through all the noise.”_

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

Today.

 

“Something's up with Kyle.”

 

Usually, when Dan utters this particular line, it means that his partner is _up to something_  and that something usually isn't a good thing.

It is wonderfully odd that people who know Kyle generally seem to feel inclined to duck their heads whenever anyone says those words and it would presumably be perfectly hilarious if Dan couldn't relate on a spiritual level.

 

Now, to be fair, Kyle isn't some mischievous five-year-old. He's a grown, responsible man, who just occasionally gets these … _ideas_ , that seem to sound a lot better in his head than they do in anyone else's.

The last time Dan declared that _“something's up with Kyle”_ , the very same got incredibly, _idiotically_ drunk and triggered an avalanche of strange occurrences that culminated in Dan involuntarily making the acquaintance of a stray baseball, that “slipped from Kyle's grasp” and left Dan with an impressive black eye; an unfortunate incident that the keyboardist chose to comment on with the word “oops”.

Kyle still insists that he “wasn't _that_ drunk”.

 

This time is different though. This time, when Woody looks up upon hearing Dan's quiet words, tearing his eyes away from the magazine he's been reading for the past fifteen minutes, there's no terror in his eyes, no groan escapes the back of his throat and he doesn't jump up and throw himself behind the sofa he's lounging on.

Instead, he tenses up ever so slightly, regarding Dan in silence, and the singer sees something soft in his eyes, something like understanding; and even while he knows that, well, _something's up_ , receiving the silent affirmation from someone close to Kyle makes Dan feel like the floor beneath his feet is quivering, and for a split-second he feels strangely unsteady, even whilst being seated on the sofa across from Woody.

 

“He … he doesn't seem very happy,” Dan adds hesitantly as soon as he feels like he can speak without his voice cracking like the surface of a frozen lake, and Woody just shakes his head in confirmation and looks at Dan closely.

 

Dan is worried about Kyle.

The man has been strangely distant of late, has started pulling away from his lover, physically and emotionally, withdrawing into himself and spending an unusual amount of time alone in his bunk with the curtains drawn. He's been going out for long, solitary walks without telling anyone, avoids going out with his friends because he has to _think_ , needs to be _alone_ for a while.

He says he's tired and, truth be told, they all are. They've almost reached the end of another tour and everyone is exhausted and looking forward to a much-needed rest at home, reunited with their families and significant others.

Kyle … he probably really _is_ tired. But that's not all.

Something else is going on and Dan can't seem to figure out what it is. He feels like it's slowly but surely driving him insane.

 

It's no news to anyone who knows Dan, and certainly not to the man himself, that he's an incorrigible pessimist and so it's not at all surprising that his mind immediately does what it seems to be particularly good at - thinking up the worst case scenario.

 

_He doesn't love me anymore._

 

Dan assumes that the fact that this is his personal worst case scenario is very telling and spectacularly showcases his anxiety and deep fear of losing the love of his life, but he prefers not to dwell on it, especially not now, not in this current situation.

 

Worst case scenario.

 

Dan is not only a pessimist, he's also something entirely different – a hopeless romantic; and despite what people might think and expect of him, having seen his persistent and almost – yes, he knows – _annoying_ pessimistic side, he has an imperturbable and unwavering faith in his and Kyle's relationship. It might well be the only aspect of his life that he truly, wholeheartedly believes in.

No, Dan is certain – he loves Kyle and Kyle loves him just the same.

 

_So, what could it possibly be?_

 

Dan sighs deeply and sinks further into the sofa cushions, an action that earns him a worried glance from the drummer who still watches him in silence.

 

Honestly – Dan hates being stuck in his own head sometimes.

There seems to be an abundance of factual and emotional information fighting for his attention at all times and he seems to perceive and experience even the most insignificant and mundane things more intensely, more vividly than others. His thoughts and feelings are at all times blanketed in a layer of half-written music that coats everything else, like a thick mantle of snow covering a bustling city, muffling all other emotions, smells, sounds and sights trying to make their way into his head from the outside.

People say he's _caught up in his own world_. To Dan, it feels more like … drowning.

It's a blessing and a curse.

 

On tour, the chaos in his head tends to intensify. Meeting new people every day, playing to thousands of fans, travelling from one strange place to another – there is no universal schedule for anything they do. There is no going to bed at the same time every night, no Kyle holding him close unless they're _very_ desperate – the narrow bunk beds are in no way made to be shared between two grown men.

Touring is stressful – always and under any circumstances. But for Dan specifically, above all things, it means one thing in particular: he gets no rest from the constant anxious buzzing of his own mind.

And right now the touring, the recent worrying about Kyle's uncharacteristic behaviour and the fear that he himself might have caused whatever is gnawing at his partner make up the perfect recipe for yet another sleepless night.

 

Dan swallows and it feels like he's swallowing around a ton of sand.

_What happened?_

What made Kyle pull away from him, further and further with each passing day?

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

“ _You cut through all the noise.”_

 

 _The constant, deafening noise in his head, the tangle of verse and melody; the expectations that were weighing down on him, the stress of touring, the uncertainty that came with their job, the fact that there always seemed to be some big, anxiety-inducing_ something _waiting for him on the horizon. The fear of losing touch with what and whom they left behind every time they fled their home, chasing another dream._

 

_It was Kyle who managed to cut through it all and get him out of his head. It wasn't the alcohol that got him through the nights of self-deprecating thoughts. It wasn't the noise and adrenaline thrown at him by thousands of strangers at their shows that pulled him through to the next day of waking up and getting ready and facing another day of repeating the motions._

 

 _It was Kyle. It was looking into his dark eyes and letting the feeling of_ home _wash over him when the panic settled in; it was Kyle's arm around his shoulders that made him feel safe,_ saved _, when he believed that this time, he couldn't possibly surpass the obstacle he was facing._

_It was Kyle who stood by his side at all times; Kyle who always had his back._

_He anchored him like nothing and nobody else._

_It was Kyle's hand holding his tightly, squeezing his fingers in gentle reassurance, expressing his support in a way no words ever could. Dan may be good at using words, but Kyle was good at not having to use them at all and still saying everything that Dan so desperately needed to hear._

 

_Settling down on the small blue sofa that both him and Kyle had fallen in love with at first sight, Dan let his gaze wander over the half-empty shelves they had set up on one side of the room. He breathed in the smell of new furniture and fleetingly registered the many cardboard boxes that still occupied a large majority of the small space._

_Closing his eyes, he started going through the words in his head once more, letting the peace they made him feel calm his mind._

 

“ _Let those fools be loud, let alarms ring out,_

_cause you cut through all the noise.”_

 

 

 

_/ /_

 


	2. Miles From Way Back When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter, hope you don't mind.  
> Thanks for reading <3

_/ /_

 

 

 

_Seven weeks earlier._

 

_After a successful gig and if band and crew didn't have to travel to a new location on the same night, alcohol was usually a must-have in some way or other, and luckily, the desired liquid came in many a shape and form._

 

_Much like the others, Dan found himself floating on a euphoric post-show high, adrenaline making him buzz with excitement and eager to enjoy the surprisingly mild autumn night alongside his friends and his lover._

 

_But, to his surprise: “Nah, you go, I'll stay here.”_

 

_Dan raised his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape in feigned shock. “Who are you and what have you done to Kyle?”_

_He wrapped his arms around the other's middle, pulling him close._

 

_Kyle looked at him with a thoughtful expression, then laid his warm hands on Dan's face and squished his cheeks together, silently kneading his features into something that didn't exactly pass as human anymore._

 

_A muffled laugh escaped Dan and he squeezed his eyes shut, and Kyle let go and watched affectionately as his lover tried to regain control of his facial muscles by going through an assortment of odd grimaces. When Dan had finished his exercise, Kyle leaned down, placed a small kiss on the tip of his nose and smiled._

 

“ _You sure you don't wanna come?” Dan asked again, more seriously now. It wasn't like Kyle to miss out on an opportunity to go and get truly wasted._

 

_Kyle shook his head lightly and placed a palm on either side of Dan's neck, slowly running his fingertips through the shorter hairs at the back of his head, smoothing them down gently and drawing small circles into his scalp._

 

“ _'m tired, I'ma take a nap.”_

 

_A concerned frown flashed across Dan's features and he leaned into his partner's space and kissed his throat softly._

“ _Something wrong?” he mumbled against Kyle's neck, smoothing a gentle thumb over the sensitive skin and revelling in the familiar scent of the other's aftershave._

 

_Kyle let his hands fall on Dan's shoulders, moved back decidedly and regarded him with a piercing stare, a spark of annoyance gleaming in his dark eyes._

 

“ _Why does there always have to be something wrong as soon as I don't feel like getting pissed?”_

 

_Dan blinked owlishly in surprise. “I just- it's just less fun without you, you know,” he stuttered._

 

“ _Yeah well, I'm not your entertainer. And I'm not in the mood to get wasted and wake up with a massive hangover. We're not twenty anymore, Dan,” and Kyle let go of him and moved across their hotel room, snatching the battered crime novel he had been reading for the past week from his purple duffel bag._

 

_Dan gazed after him wide-eyed, his mind for once bare of any words coherent enough to reflect his thoughts. He could feel the betraying heat of embarrassment rise to his face as he stood wordlessly in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with his hands._

 

_He decided to put them to use twisting the soft fabric of his worn sweater into a tight ball as Kyle got comfortable on the large bed. “I'll stay too if you want,” Dan said quietly and looked up at his partner tentatively, slumped shoulders revealing his unease and making him seem much smaller than he was._

 

_Kyle looked up at the singer and sighed when he noticed his obvious discomfort. He shook his head, then stood in one swift motion and moved towards Dan confidently, untangling the other's fingers from his sweater and holding them tightly in his own warm hands._

“ _Don't take this personally, babe. I just wanna be alone for a bit. You go and have fun.”_

 

_Dan swallowed and he tried, he really tried, to do as Kyle said and not take it personally, yet he couldn't help but feel rejected. He nodded, muttered a quiet “Yeah, sure” and leaned towards Kyle hesitantly, feeling relief flood his chest like a tidal wave when his partner wrapped his arms around Dan's shoulders with no sign of reluctance, and the taller man placed a soft kiss on his forehead._

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

Today.

 

Question. Is it possible to be madly in love with someone and still get sick of them?

 

Answer number one: No way. He loves you, he could never get sick of you, you're just overthinking things again. Something's on his mind, he's human, he has worries, fears. We all go through times like that. Touring is stressful, everyone feels tired and worn out, it happens, it doesn't have anything to do with you. Don't worry about it, he'll be fine.

 

Answer number two: Well, yes. You can love someone more than anything in this world, yet still. People change, people grow apart until you stop loving who's standing in front of you and you start being in love with the person they used to be. In love with the way they made you feel. It's normal. Sometimes people just need to decide to … move on.

 

 

 

It's just an idea, just a small, insignificant-seeming notion. But that's the dangerous thing about ideas, isn't it? They appear out of nowhere, minuscule and harmless, surely, until they grow and infect your mind like a virus that leaves no room for any other thoughts.

 

This particular idea has evolved into a virus a while ago, nourished by the small differences Dan can't help but notice in Kyle's behaviour, changes that make him think that his partner might be fed up with him; and while part of his mind is trying to convince him that living out of one's suitcase for a prolonged time in the cramped confines of tour buses and hotel rooms would lead _anyone_ to get sick of the sight of even their closest friends, another voice is trying to coax him into entertaining the possibility that the situation is … more permanent than that.

 

It's a scary prospect to be faced with and Dan, still sitting and brooding on the tour bus in Woody's silent company, can do nothing but let his anxiety fuel the detested thought, until he finds it is impossible for him to sit still any longer, so he stands stiffly and snatches his hoodie jacket off the back of the sofa, Woody's eyes still focused on him, following his sudden movements with worry etched into his features.

 

Dan looks back at him, mumbles a quick “I, uh, need to … go” and leaves without further ado.

He grabs his phone and backpack on his way through the cramped space they periodically call home, throws a blue cap on top of his messy hair and jumps out of the bus, walking swiftly towards the back entrance of the venue they're parked in front of in preparation for the last show of their UK tour that night.

 

The calm November day is pleasantly crisp and Dan takes a moment to breathe deeply through his mouth, relishing the iciness of the air that fills his lungs and leaves him with an exhilarating burning sensation deep inside his chest. As he exhales, a small, white cloud forms in front of his face and rises up towards the sky, before dissipating into thin air.

The few trees he can see from his position are bare of any leaves and look strangely like crooked pitchforks, left sticking upside down in a frozen field in the middle of nowhere.

 

Dan glances up, blue eyes scanning the grey, cloudless sky that looks remarkably like a blank canvas, and rubs his freezing hands together, feeling resolve course through him.

He's okay. They're going to be okay. He's going to figure it out.

 

“Off to that writing cave of yours?” he suddenly hears a familiar voice ring out ahead of him and when he tears his eyes away from the dreary sight, he spots Will, bespectacled and wrapped in a questionable beige cardigan, walking towards him with a small smile on his face.

 

Dan sighs when the man comes to a halt next to him. “Uh, yeah …”

 

Will looks at him curiously. “Not gonna do any writing though.”

 

Dan shakes his head and runs a hand over his stubbled chin, furrowing his brow.

“Nah, I uh … need to think about some stuff.”

 

“Some stuff being Kyle.”

 

“How-”

 

“I'm not an idiot, I can see when someone's doing a one-eighty right in front of my eyes. He's been weird lately … well, more than usual.”

 

Dan doesn't say anything, just stares at his feet self-consciously.

 

Will sighs and claps Dan on the shoulder amiably, though with more force than strictly necessary.

“Cheer up. Whatever it is, I'm sure he's gonna be fine. And, I mean, you can't possibly be worried about your relationship, cause you're, like, everyone's goals.”

 

“We … what?”

 

“Seriously. Stop worrying so much. I have more faith in you two than I have in the Queen of England.”

 

“You can't stand the Queen.”

 

“True. But, think about it for a minute,” Will says and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, smiling encouragingly, before walking away without another word and leaving a thoroughly confused Dan to himself in the freezing car park.

 

Relationship talks with Will were always a revelation.

 

Dan has been assured that a makeshift writing room was set up for him backstage, and after making his way to the arena, he unsuccessfully tries to navigate his way around the large, foreign space on his own, until a member of the catering team finds and takes pity on him and helps him to his desired destination, waiting until he opens the door, before leaving him be.

 

The room is tiny, five square metres at most, and almost empty. There's a tall, narrow mirror placed on one wall (a desperate attempt at visually enlarging the small space) next to a big, black leather armchair, that Dan is incredibly grateful for, and a cream-coloured IKEA desk.

 

He settles down into the comfortable chair, rubbing his back with the knuckles of his right hand and letting his rucksack slide to the floor next to him. His back hurts.

With all the recent touring and the hours upon hours he has invested in writing between shows, he has developed a very irritating tendency for back pains that make an appearance whenever he is forced to sit or stand in the same position for more than ten minutes.

 

A deep sigh escapes his parted lips and he pulls the blue cap off his head, unceremoniously throwing it on the table in front of him.

 

_Is Kyle sick of me?_

 

Dan knows he can be a handful. He knows he gets weird and distant, caught up in his thoughts and lost in his own world sometimes, but he's not doing it on purpose! He's not _trying_ to distance himself.

He knows the passion and determination with which he pursues and pushes their career as a band can at times feel mildly intimidating to the people around him, but is it wrong to be passionate about what you do?

 

Maybe Kyle is really just sick of always looking after him and cheering him up and basically replacing his backbone whenever they go through trying times. And ha, doesn't it feel like their whole life is one never-ending stressful phase?

 

But … Kyle wants to do it. He always says he _wants_ to look after him, wants to be that bit of hope and light that Dan needs to keep him going at the end of a long, draining day.

 

Maybe he's worn out. You can't expect anyone to stay positive and cheerful and supportive non-stop. Maybe always supporting everyone else has made Kyle insecure about himself.

 

But no, it seems almost too ridiculous. Kyle isn't the type to feel insecure. He's passionate, strong-willed, witty. Self-confident. He's the stable force in their relationship as well as the unpredictable whirlwind; he jokes with others about their domestic life, publicly displays affection without hesitation.

Surely he can't be feeling _insecure_ of all things?

 

Dan shakes his head, a slight feeling of shock buzzing through his chest when he realises – he's carelessly categorising Kyle's feelings.

Assuming that someone who often displays strength and confidence can't feel insecure and helpless and weak is insensitive, much like it would be to assume a clown can never be sad, a poet never speechless.

 

He knows better than this. He knows Kyle feels insecure about certain things.

 

It's always been this way – the Kyle that Dan experiences behind closed doors, hidden away from prying eyes, is very different from the Kyle that everyone else gets a bite of.

Kyle is funny, loud, bouncy … a bit as if his body has grown up a tad too fast for his mind. He's the kind of person people gravitate towards because he's fun to hang out with, he always has a joke up his sleeve and he seems admirably secure in everything he does. And it rubs off on the people around him, he makes everyone feel comfortable in their own skin, makes them feel safe and … happy.

 

The Kyle Dan knows … he can at times almost seem like a different person.

He's gentle and quiet, loving and vulnerable. He shows him sides he wouldn't show anyone else.

Dan knows he wasn't always as steady in their relationship as he is now. He can't help but think back to when they started dating, the issues they encountered, how people thought it was all going to crash and burn around them, because no way Kyle fucking Simmons was settling down with one of his best friends, of all people, no way he was actually sincere about dating Dan when he was so playful with everything else he did.

 

Oh, how Kyle had struggled to explain just _how serious_ he was about this new and fairly unexpected development in their relationship. How he had thought he needed to prove himself worthy of being with Dan. How much time and effort he had put into trying to convince people that he wasn't going to fuck it up. It was heartbreaking to see him so insecure and hurt, but they got over it. Or did they?

 

Dan can't help but feel responsible. Kyle is human, of course he feels sad and alone once in a while. Of course he needs space sometimes.

 _Maybe he's tired of it._ Tired of being the one that people expect to be cheerful and funny all the bloody time, always in a great mood, the one people turn to when they want to hear a joke or need someone to diffuse an awkward situation.

 

Maybe he's sick of always having to be the one to care for Dan when he's stuck in his own head again. And maybe Dan hasn't looked out for Kyle enough and taken care of him in return.

 

The unmistakable chilliness of guilt creeps its way from Dan's toes all the way up into his head and clings to his thoughts like frost covering a window.

 

 

He can't tell, can't remember – and it breaks his heart – whether he's been giving enough.

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

 _Dan had never wanted to be one of_ those _couples that were joined at the hip and did everything together and spoke of themselves as “we” and “us” on every occasion. Being in love with someone didn't involve having surgery to get permanently attached, thank you very much, and he would like to keep it that way. People were people, and sometimes people needed time to themselves, to think, to breathe, just to be alone with their head and heart for a bit. Kyle and Dan seemed to share this viewpoint and so far it had been no issue at all to go a day or a night without the other._

 

_It was surprisingly hard to remember all this when Dan was sitting in some shitty pub in the middle of a dead city at two in the morning, trying to numb himself enough to stop feeling the nagging sensation at the back of his head alerting him that something was wrong._

 

_Where was the line between worrying just enough and being too dependent? Was he insensitive for wanting to rush back to the hotel they were staying at to check up on his boyfriend, when the other had specifically asked to have some space, or was it normal to want to find out if something was indeed wrong?_

 

 _Dan groaned and let his head fall on the counter heavily, trying to ignore Will calling him out on being a sad, lonely sap that couldn't bear being apart from his boyfriend for five minutes. He drunkenly informed the other, vaguely aware of his slurry speech, that it had in fact been closer to five_ hours _._

 

_Kyle had always told him he was a “dramatic drunk” and honestly, Dan was starting to see it._

_He could feel that he, a grown-ass thirty-year-old, was_ pouting _, and his inebriation made it impossible for him to assess whether or not he was being an idiot._

 

_He looked up at Will, noticing that he looked blurrier than he had fifteen minutes ago._

“ _Are you fading or are my eyes getting worse,” he asked seriously and Will put a comforting if slightly unsteady hand on his shoulder._

 

“ _You're just really, really drunk, Danny. Like, really, really, rea-”_

 

“ _Yeah, I get it. Shut up.” Another sigh. “When did I become the one who has to grow the fuck up?” he asked with a groan, taking another sip from the glass in front of him. “And when did I start drinking wine?”_

 

“ _That's mine,” Will said and swapped their glasses, only barely avoiding smashing them both to pieces._

“ _And I'm not giving you relationship advice, cause I'm fucking pissed,” he added and took a sip._

 

_Dan groaned again. He felt embarrassed. Here he was, sitting in this utter shithole, getting drunk on disgusting … whatever cheap alcohol he was currently gulping down, sulking and thinking about his boyfriend and how cute his little moustache was, when the other was being a responsible grown-up who was, well, probably sleeping by now. Dan tried to check the time on his watch, but his wrist was too far away and he couldn't seem to get his brain to tell his arm to move closer towards his face._

 

“ _I wanna go back,” he exclaimed and suddenly stood from the stool, swaying into Will and dragging him off his own chair, the bassist barely hanging on to the counter._

“ _Come on, I wanna see Kyle.”_

 

_Will blinked. “Dan, is like … morning. He's asleep and what even are you gonna say to him? Sorry for sulking cause you didn't wanna go out with me, now let me wank you off to make it up to you?”_

 

“ _Somethin' like that, yeah.”_

 

_Will shrugged and let the man drag him along to find the others, and so half an hour later, they had migrated from the shabby place that made Dan feel like he needed to shower for the better part of a week, back to the hotel and Dan was vaguely aware of standing in a corridor with Will and Woody, the latter of whom was currently patting down the back pockets of Dan's jeans. The singer got out a slurred “Why you touching my butt” and Will muttered an incredulous “We're never taking him out without Kyle again”._

 

_Woody seemed to have found his keycard somewhere and managed to unlock the door to his and Kyle's hotel room quietly, only for Dan to trip over the threshold and stumble into the room, knocking hard into the table next to the entrance and letting out a pained yelp._

_A soft rustling sound came from the large double bed at the far end of the room, a slight sniffle, and then the light on one of the bedside tables was switched on and Kyle looked at the three drunk intruders with adorably squinted eyes._

 

“ _What the fuck are you doing”, he mumbled sleepily and rubbed a hand over his face, watching as Will tried to help Dan to his feet._

_Woody grinned at Kyle and said, “He was all sappy and emo cause you weren't there, so he got shit-faced to drown his sorrows.”_

 

_Kyle stared at them for a moment. “That's really gay.”_

_Dan laughed and stumbled towards the bed, dropping down on it face-first, grabbing Kyle's foot and yelling into the covers: “I_ am _really gay!”_

_Kyle sighed and shook his foot lightly, trying to get his now unmoving partner to let go, and Will and Woody left the room quietly, the drummer whispering “He's all yours” and blowing Kyle a kiss. The taller man retaliated by raising his middle finger._

 

_Dan could feel someone tugging on his shirt and he rolled around with a groan, trying to see._

_Kyle glared at him and pointed to his black Converse. “You gonna take those off? I kinda wanna sleep but I need to make sure my shitty boyfriend doesn't die.”_

_Dan pouted at him and sat up, trying to get his long legs to cooperate and bending down as if in slow motion to undo his shoelaces._

 

_After quite a few failed attempts, Kyle sighed and crawled over to him, sliding off the bed and kneeling down in front of Dan, taking his shoes off swiftly and making quick work of his jeans._

_Leaning his hands on the other's knees, he made to stand and get into bed again and Dan grabbed his arm and looked at him seriously._

 

“ _Going out without you sucks. No one really knew what to do and it wasn't funny at all.”_

 

“ _Yeah well, deal with it. I'm not a fucking fun factory.”_

 

_Dan was silent for a moment. “Are you mad at me?” he asked and suddenly felt like he was about to cry. Damn that bloody vodka._

 

_Kyle sighed, then shook his head to himself and chuckled affectionately._

“ _Only if you throw up on me.”_

 

_Dan sniffled and looked at Kyle, clinging to his shirt desperately. Then he stared at the floor._

“ _I know- I know I'm an idiot. And 'm childish and annoying. And- and I know you're not a fund- fact- fat- you know. That. I never think that, I just like having you. You know, havin' you around me. Cause you make me feel warm inside.”_

 

_Silence. Dan didn't want to look up. A soft breeze of air, then Kyle was kneeling in front of him again and his smile was so bright, Dan thought he might faint._

 

_Kyle laughed quietly, then said: “You're not usually childish, only sometimes. And you're not annoying unless you're babbling incoherent shit about David Lynch, and the only reason I can say this right now is cause I know you won't remember it in the morning.” He paused and took a moment to brush a few strands of Dan's messier-than-usual hair from his face. “And you're never, ever going drinking without me again, cause God, you're a mess and you need a fucking chaperone” he added and pinched his lover's nipple, making Dan cry out and hit him on the shoulder weakly._

 

_Kyle grinned and leaned up to kiss his forehead, then pulled him onto the bed, tucked him in and turned off the lights; and just as Dan thought he'd gone back to sleep, Kyle slung an arm around his waist and pulled him close, and Dan felt the familiar tickling of his boyfriend's beard scratching his sensitive neck as the other placed an open-mouthed kiss on the warm skin. Then another. And then:_

 

“ _You smell like a fucking liquor store. But I love you.”_

 

 

 

 _The next morning, all Dan managed to tell Kyle through his blinding headache was that Woody had grabbed his arse and that Kyle had_ somehow _insulted David Lynch, he was_ sure _of it, and he was going to find out how._

 

_And Kyle just laughed and threw a pack of paracetamol at his head._

 

 

 

_/ /_

 


	3. Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a shocking turn of events, this will actually have four chapters instead of three. Not that it makes a huge difference.  
> Thank you so much for reading <3

Today.

 

When you truly and wholeheartedly love someone, be it romantically or platonically, the thought of giving them your all and fulfilling their every wish feels like the most exhilarating concept imaginable. Seeing the surprise, the joy and gratitude in their eyes – there is something so reassuring and achingly beautiful about it, that makes _giving_ a unique experience.

 

Dating Kyle is incredibly rewarding in this respect. The younger man is heartbreakingly easy to please and Dan loves showing his affection through small, seemingly insignificant gestures: washing the dishes for the third consecutive day, because he knows Kyle hates having pruney fingers; letting him choose which movie to watch _yet_ _again_ , and smiling at him clapping like an overexcited seal when the opening scene of _The Fifth Element_ starts playing; draping Kyle's jeans on the radiator when he wakes up before him on a cold winter day, so they're warm when his lover eventually rolls out of bed with a groan – it's the little things that make Kyle happy.

 

Dan can't even remember when exactly it stopped. Probably around the same time as the realisation set in that, _yes_ , their job was to make music and travel about playing said music to quite a few people and _yes_ , those people _wanted_ to hear the songs that Dan wrote in his tiny, horrifically overpriced flat. And _no_ , it wasn't going to crash and burn after four months, or eight months, or even a year.

 

It took a good while, honestly, and in the slow and tedious process of reluctantly accepting the truth, everything else just sort of … escaped Dan, and he lost himself and his sense for normality in this new frightening and exciting progress of making something with the ambition to actually _put it out there_ and have it judged and dissected by the masses.

And even though Kyle never said a word, Dan could see it in his eyes: he was upset because he missed seeing Dan and spending time with him outside the studio and just forgetting about the music for one bloody day.

The only consolation was that the initial madness was always going to be temporary.

 

Until it wasn't.

 

Dan kept trying to convince himself that (sooner or later) everything was going to go back to normal, he would take a break from writing, they would stop touring until exhaustion became a permanent state of mind, and start having a _life_ outside their career again – but somehow it never happened, it never stopped, and they did the only thing they could do without shattering what they had built: they adjusted.

And it was okay, they were okay.

 

Yet still, Dan longed for the little gestures, the small moments of content – not the rushed, stolen minutes that were drowned in deafening music and short-lived applause.

And when the only thing that _didn't_ change was the way Kyle looked after him, with passion and love and gentle force, Dan started feeling like the balance that once existed between them, between giving and receiving, was tipped noticeably. It filled him with remorse, and he vowed to do _something_ about it, but then another half-written song was begging to be finished, another tour was set in motion, another video to be shot.

 

Dan leans further into his chair in the tiny makeshift writing room and tries to blink away the pressure increasing rapidly behind his eyes, tries to swallow around the tight lump in his throat. He feels like crying and running to Kyle, begging him, “Forgive me, love, for taking and taking and not giving you all the support and love you deserved in return.”

 

Because surely, Kyle won't be able to keep doing it forever – giving him his everything, day in and day out, and receiving little from the singer in return. And Dan has been so wrapped up in their wild world, in new music, in the curious expectations of fans and critics, the stress of promoting and travelling and not knowing any more whether what they have created over the past years is even remotely good, that he doesn't remember when they last talked about how Kyle is coping.

 

Dan knows – he _needs_ Kyle. He selfishly needs him to feel grounded, to stay sane, to do what they have to do without losing his mind.

But what does Kyle need?

 

Dan bites down on the inside of his cheek.

 

_I fucked up._

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

_Six days ago._

 

_The lovers sat in silence on a worn leather sofa in the backstage area of another terrifyingly big venue, the quiet that surrounded them heavy with words that needn't be said aloud._

_Their thighs and arms and shoulders were pressed together tightly, the heat radiating off their bodies mingling in the tiny space that was left in between, creating a bubble of safety and warmth that enveloped them entirely, isolating them from the unpleasantness of reality. They relished the physical closeness that conveyed a much deeper understanding than words ever could._

 

_The door to the small room was swung open enthusiastically and Kyle jumped slightly, perceptibly leaning his body away from his lover's as Charlie strolled in, balancing a large cup of takeaway coffee in one hand, followed by Woody, who broke into a wide smile as soon as he took note of Kyle's awkwardness, hinting at the intimacy they appeared to have disrupted._

 

“ _Any closer than that and you'll actually melt together”, he chuckled and Kyle rolled his eyes._

 

_The tall man moved again, causing Dan to shift as well, his back objecting immediately. A small involuntary sound of discomfort escaped him and he tried to sit up properly, wincing when the dull pain intensified._

_Kyle eyed him thoughtfully, then swiftly rose to his feet and left the room, returning a few moments later with a packet of heat plasters, his eyes quickly scanning the directions on the back._

“ _Shirt off,” he instructed Dan distractedly as he moved to sit down next to him._

 

_Charlie whistled playfully from where he was leaning against a wobbly table and took a sip of his coffee, wiggling his eyebrows at Dan. Instead of shooting back a snappy remark like he usually tended to, Kyle seemed to choose to ignore the suggestive glances thrown at them and went to take a plaster from the small box._

 

_Dan turned away from his partner and lifted his T-shirt halfway up his back, and Kyle carefully placed the plaster on the skin to the left of his spine, smoothing it down with a gentle touch, cool fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake._

“ _Should heat up soon,” he said and made to stand to get rid of the creased paper he had pulled off the plaster and scrunched up into a tiny ball._

 

_Dan held him back by his upper arm, pulling on it slightly and kissing the other's lips briefly when he bent down._

“ _Thank you,” he said quietly and Kyle sighed, kindness and concern dancing across his face when he mumbled “Just be careful” and placed a soft kiss on Dan's forehead._

 

_Out of the corner of his eye, Dan could see Woody watching curiously as Kyle made his way to the dustbin, eyes still following him when he walked back to the sofa and sat down next to his partner slowly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder._

 

_The singer smiled and watched as his boyfriend picked up the 1985 Star Wars graphic novel they had found in a second-hand bookshop the previous day, warm, brown eyes admiring the cover art, before turning over the page with his long, elegant fingers and smoothing it down carefully, silver rings gleaming in the bright lights of the room._

 

_Dan accidentally let out a yearning sigh as he watched the mesmerising scene unfolding in front of him, and immediately glanced at Woody, who had apparently been observing Dan shamelessly stare at Kyle for a solid minute. The singer blushed furiously and sunk deeper into the thick sofa cushions, embarrassment making him hope against hope that the floor would open up and welcome him into its dark embrace._

 

_Woody shifted and took a long drink from his water bottle._

“ _So,” he started and Dan could see the glint in his friend's eyes and started subtly shaking his head at the drummer. No matter what the long-haired man was about to do or say, he was not going to like it._

 

_Woody ignored Dan's pleading stare and smiled widely._

“ _Kyle,” he said and waited until the keyboardist looked up, his index finger resting on the thin page, marking his reading progress._

 

_Kyle raised his eyebrows. “What.”_

 

“ _What's it now, two and a half years, eh?” Woody asked, vaguely pointing at the pair with the half-empty bottle._

 

_Kyle smiled and resumed rubbing Dan's back. “Almost, yeah.”_

 

“ _That's quite a long time you've managed to put up with him.”_

 

“ _Hey,” Dan protested weakly and leaned further into his lover's touch._

 

“ _Nothing to have to put up with,” Kyle said and Dan smiled at him, almost shyly._

 

“ _Makes you think,” Woody continued his ominous rant, cheeky smile still lighting up his face, making Dan more nervous than it had any right to. Kyle furrowed his brow in confusion, comically mirroring what Dan felt like._

 

“ _I mean,” Woody went on, “You're gonna stay together, right?”_

 

“ _What the fuck are you on about?” Kyle asked incredulously, letting the pages of the comic flutter shut and looking at the drummer with squinted eyes. “Of course we're staying together.”_

_The confidence and sureness with which he said the words made Dan's heart leap jovially in his chest._

 

“ _Good, good.” Woody took another sip, never breaking eye-contact with Kyle._

 

“ _So, you gonna put a ring on that finger?”_

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

_Wait._

 

Dan sits up straight, can feel some sense seeping into the chaos inside his mind.

 

Of course.

_Of bloody course._

 

How could he forget that cold morning a week ago, when he felt like someone had deposited a large knife in his spine, when Kyle's beautiful fingers slowly turned the pages of the old graphic novel, when the heat radiating off the plaster on his aching back and Kyle's hand ghosting over his shoulder made him feel warm and fuzzy and loved.

 

When Woody stared at them intently, eyes screaming mischief, and said those words _– “So, you gonna put a ring on that finger?” –_ and Dan scoffed and rolled his eyes, glancing at Kyle briefly and seeing his partner gape at Woody wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, looking like he was struggling not to faint. When Dan laughed, said “Don't worry, Kyle, he's just joking,” and shot a last scolding glare at the drummer, before turning his attention to his phone.

 

In hindsight … maybe not the most sensible reaction.

 

It all seems to fall into place in Dan's head now, the strange behaviour that Kyle has been showing, especially over the past week, the many occasions on which he has announced he needs to be alone to think, seemingly glancing at Dan whenever he thought the other wouldn't notice, appearing thoughtful and slightly lost, and looking like he was walking on unsteady ground.

 

_Fucking hell._

 

Kyle took it seriously.

 

Dan stands from the armchair, spinning it slightly as he starts pacing around the small room.

Okay, this is … he's onto something. Possibly.

 

He tries to put himself in Kyle's shoes. The younger man has been very serious about their life as a couple for a while, a good few months, Dan would say. He has been exceptionally mature and rational about important decisions that affect them both, has made an effort to take matters into his own hands and has, step by step, begun leading them further towards a solid and steady future.

 

So, in his mind, has Kyle finally let go of all doubts? Does he feel nothing but certainty that this is it, _they're_ it? And when Woody says those words, does the insinuation suddenly transform in his mind, from being just another joke to being a real possibility, an option many couples would be thinking through at some point in an advanced relationship? Does he start weighing the pros and cons of getting married, getting legally bonded?

 

Dan stands unmoving in the middle of the room, feeling deeply grounded, yet strangely unsteady. An overwhelming heat starts rising in his stomach, his chest, his head, and he feels dizzy for a second.

 

 

Is Kyle going to _propose_ to him?

 

 

The thought and especially the image of this possibility imprinted in his head is a bit too overwhelming and a bit too heartbreaking to bear, so Dan crouches down on the floor, head in his hands, feeling the immense heat under his fingertips and breathing deeply through his mouth. He can't help but smile to himself and shake his head again and again (and _thank fuck_ no one is here with him right now, because they would definitely think he has finally lost his last ounce of sanity).

 

He raises his head, staring at the grey floor as he places a clammy hand on his mouth. He feels the overwhelming need to scream, but he's unsure about the quality of the room's insulation, so he contents himself with rubbing both hands over his face vigorously, groaning deeply and trying to stop grinning like an idiot.

 

He tries to remind himself to stay reasonable. He doesn't actually _know_ if this is what's been on Kyle's mind. He can't be certain. He shouldn't get ahead of himself.

But really, he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. Imagining Kyle in front of him on one knee, all jittery and looking up at his lover with those stunning dark eyes of his, it makes Dan want to cry.

 

Either way, whatever may or may not happen – they're okay. They're going to be okay. And Dan feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in days.

 

A soft knock on the door catapults him back into reality and he jumps up, straightens himself out and clears his throat, trying to find some sense of composure and hoping that it's not Kyle standing on the other side of that door, because God, he's not sure he can look into those eyes right now without spontaneously bursting into flames.

 

Rubbing his back, he walks to the door stiffly and opens it as casually as he can muster, finding himself face to face with Charlie, ever-smiling and holding a large cup of tea in one hand and a packet of heat plasters in the other.

 

Charlie eyes Dan's flushed face and messy hair with an amused glint in his eyes, raising one of his very expressive eyebrows.

“You been working out in there?” he asks and chuckles, before holding up the gladly accepted gifts.

 

“Kyle sent me to give you this,” he explains and hands Dan the tea, “And this,” and he presses the small box into the singer's free hand.

 

Dan sighs. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it,” he says and smiles at his friend fondly, before asking him tentatively: “Do you know why he couldn't come himself?”

 

Charlie shrugs. “Nah, just said he was busy and could I maybe, possibly, if I feel like it, _yadda yadda_. As if it's a huge favour to ask me to go and bring you some tea. He's been so formal lately.”

 

Dan grins. “He's trying to be super serious. This whole _adulting_ thing is fairly new to him.”

 

Charlie laughs and shakes his head lightly, before mock-saluting the singer and turning on his heel.

 

“Hey,” Dan shouts after his friend after a moment of hesitation, and Charlie turns to look at him curiously.

“Could you, uh … ask him to come here? If you see him?”

Dan is aware that he sounds like a schoolboy begging his friend to get his crush to talk to him, but he can't bring himself to care when his mind is a chaotic jumble of speculations and _what ifs_. Charlie only grins, gives him a thumbs up and bounces off quickly.

 

Dan sighs and goes back inside, leaving the door open just a crack, and settling into the chair once more, cautiously sipping at the wonderfully hot drink Kyle had sent his way.

Caught up in his thoughts, he doesn't notice when the door is pushed open and closed quietly behind his back, and a tall figure walks up to him, stopping next to the chair with raised eyebrows and an amused smirk.

 

“You called?” Kyle asks casually and chuckles when Dan jumps and nearly drops the cup.

When he sees him cringe in pain, however, Kyle stops smiling and bends down, hands lingering inches from his lover's body, studying his face with worry, before he finally touches his shoulder lightly.

“Sorry, that was really stupid,” he murmurs and Dan looks up at him, racing heart calming down slowly.

 

“Oh. Uh, no, don't worry. God, I was miles away.”

Kyle smiles at his partner apologetically and affection floods Dan when he stares at the younger man. He has avoided doing just that for the past week, scared of the distance Kyle has put between himself and everyone else.

 

But now, he gazes freely at his beautiful features, his smooth skin, his thick eyelashes. His meticulously groomed beard and moustache, the soft skin of his neck. His dark eyebrows, his cute nose.

And his eyes. So full of wonder and love and warmth and a galaxy of their own. It's like Dan's whole world is captured in them, like Kyle is keeping all his dreams and feelings safe, holding them tight, protecting them. When Dan stares into those eyes, he feels safe and calm and he sees his story, _their_ story, reflected in them as if he's leafing through a precious photo album.

 

He knows he's being sentimental as hell, but in this moment all he sees in them is love. Love and worry and … restlessness, maybe. But so much pure, genuine love, that all his doubts dissolve into nothing but nightmarish thoughts, buried somewhere deep inside his chest to be fed on by his demons in times of insecurity, that will surely come – but not now.

 

Dan stands from the chair, sees Kyle watching his unsteady movements with growing worry, one hand stretched out in front of him, offering support. And Dan puts his cup on the small table and turns around quickly, stumbling into his lover's arms, wordlessly leaning his forehead on the other's shoulder.

 

It only takes a split-second for Kyle to wrap his arms around his lover and even though Dan is trying really hard to stay calm and collected, there is nothing he can do when the tears start falling into Kyle's hoodie. He brings his trembling hands up to rest on the dark fabric, and Kyle holds him impossibly closer and envelops him wholly, swaying them slightly as if they're engaged in a slow dance, and resting his cheek against Dan's temple.

 

Dan didn't even realise how anxious it made him to be in the dark about his boyfriend's behaviour, to not have that same support and safeness he usually feels radiating off of him, and while it makes him realise that he is in fact unhealthily dependent on the other man, it also makes him see clearly that he needs to appreciate all the little and not-so-little things Kyle does for him, each and every day, without complaints.

 

Suddenly self-conscious, he pulls away and runs a sleeve over his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says and swallows heavily. “Dunno where that came from.”

 

Kyle lays his hands on Dan's face and ducks his head, looking deeply into the other's red-rimmed eyes.

 

“I think I do,” he says and presses their foreheads together, making Dan shiver slightly.

“You've hardly been getting any rest. This tour just kinda needs to end now.”

He laughs, but it sounds strained.

“We all need a good night's sleep,” he adds and places a lingering kiss on Dan's right cheekbone, then his left, before kissing his lips, tracing the dark rings under Dan's eyes with his thumbs.

 

Dan doesn't say anything, just relishes the gentleness with which his lover touches him.

The past few days have been an emotional roller coaster and he can't wait for it all to be over, can't wait to sleep again instead of lying awake all night, brooding and wondering, his mind replaying every single conversation and touch and gaze exchanged between them ever since Kyle started acting strangely.

 

“Just tonight,” Kyle whispers and leans in to hold him once more.

“Just one more night and we can go home,” and Dan nods, not trusting his voice, and gets lost in the warmth of his lover's embrace.

 


	4. In Your Warmth I Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This took forever, mainly because I didn't want to let it go. I kept changing it and adding to it, until I went back to the beginning and shortened it to the initial version.  
> You might throw up a little cause it's incredibly cheesy, but I wanted it to end like this.  
> Thanks to everyone who's read and commented <3

The show they play that night leaves them on a steadier, more gratifying high than the adrenaline-soaked, short-lived euphoria they are all accustomed to; the prospect of _going_ _home_ and enjoying a few weeks of peace and quiet is ever-present, sleeping in the back of their minds to draw strength from and tempting them to examine the boundaries of their physical exhaustion.

 

They play until the tips of their fingers tingle from the repeated collision with the reliable strings and keys, until the palms of their hands feel sensitive to the touch of the drumsticks, sing until they feel like every breath has fled their lungs, until even the last spark of energy has been used to stoke up the flames lighting this final performance; they are upheld by each other, bask in the vibrating air they breathe, driven by the enthusiasm of the fevered audience.

 

They perform _The Anchor_ and Dan sings the words with more conviction, more passion than he feels he ever has before. His gaze soars back to Kyle more than once, hoping to catch the other's eye; he tries to decipher the emotions on his lover's face, bathed in shadows as it is on the half-dark stage, but the flashy lights are too hectic, the performance too fast-paced for Dan to read into them once the opening quote of the song resounds and is greeted with heartfelt cheers and arrhythmic clapping.

 

After the show, the majority of the band and their expansive crew decide to skip the customary drinks, too worn-out to face having to talk, or, God forbid, _walk_ , but promising each other to celebrate the successful tour properly – _after_ they have all managed to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

 

Dan can't bear to be without Kyle that night, and when the younger man attempts to climb past his drowsy partner and into his own curtained bunk, Dan whispers his name pleadingly and moves over ever-so-slightly, creating just enough space for Kyle to catch on to the unspoken invitation.

He looks hesitant but must see the desperate need for reassurance in the blue eyes gazing up at him because he readily complies when Dan drags him down by the seam of his worn T-shirt.

 

Kyle's arms find their way around his lover and the older man shuffles closer to the source of warmth and the ineffable, soothing feeling of _coming home_ , breathing in the smell of tangy shampoo and the sweetness of the laundry detergent they all share, as he curls up and closes his eyes with a sigh of content.

Sleep holds him in its hazy grasp within minutes.

 

A few hours later and after a number of mildly obscure dreams that vanish from his memory the second he blinks his eyes open, Dan comes to with the taunting feeling that something is _wrong_. He feels disoriented, can't quite put his finger on what's bothering him until he shifts and shivers slightly, greeted with nothing but emptiness. The warm body next to him is gone, the hauntingly cold sheets tangled uncomfortably around his legs.

 

Did Kyle slip back into his own bunk? Was it too uncomfortable, squeezed together as they were? Or was he really so troubled that he could not bear sharing the same space as Dan for more than a few hours?

 

The singer glances at the watch on his wrist. It's four-thirty in the morning.

As quickly as possible and trying not to make too much noise, he moves out of the small bunk and holds his breath as he checks Kyle's bed above his own – empty.

 

Confusion and worry start to invade his thoughts and, coupled with the bone-deep weariness of a mind and soul that are rendered vulnerable through anxious anticipation, he feels inexplicably breathless as he slowly makes his way through the narrow corridor, carefully avoiding the backpacks and clothes that lie scattered in his path.

He climbs down the steep staircase, cautious not to miss a step and fall down its full length in the darkness, and can see immediately that the lounge area, slightly more illuminated through its larger windows, is also eerily deserted, the small door leading outside shut tight.

 

Feeling his heartbeat quicken, Dan approaches it and pushes it outwards tentatively.

 

And there he is.

 

Out in the freezing cold, Kyle's silhouette seems harsh before the purple stream of light flooding down from the early morning sky, wrapping him in soft shadows and casting a sort of stillness onto his features that Dan hasn't seen on him before.

 

He watches the scene for a moment, can't help but think that Kyle looks like a painting, a portrait brought to life by someone who was clearly lovestruck, having paid especially close attention to perfecting the details – the warm tone and depth of his eyes, the enticingly dark beard and soft, kissable lips.

Dan swallows around the lump in his throat and sits down next to the younger man, running his fingers up and down his lover's back and drawing tiny swirls into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

 

 

 

“Kyle?”

 

 

 

Dan can't bear to see him in pain, see him insecure, and he feels his mouth go dry as he tries to think of something, _anything_ , to say that will make the other see just how much he means to him.

He needs Kyle to know that he is loved in every way possible, is desperate to _tell him_ , and he tries to piece them together in his mind, the hollow words that are supposed to reflect the depth of his adoration – yet they sound too dull to be anything more than meaningless platitudes.

 

Dan, the one who will never shut up about _this_ new album or _that_ amazing film, the man who says too little with too many words in response to being asked the same questions over and over again in countless interchangeable interviews. The writer who people seem to think is quite good at dreaming up lines that make people feel … _something_.

He doesn't know what to say.

 

 _Words_ , they're the only thing he believes he has _some_ semblance of control over, yet now that he needs them, he comes back empty-handed.

 

But this is Kyle, and the younger man always catches him before he hits the ground. So when he suddenly takes Dan's hands in his own, gives them a reassuring squeeze and looks deeply into his eyes, it all vanishes in a heartbeat – and Dan wants nothing more than to forget everything else until it's only the two of them left in the whole wide world.

 

Just Dan Smith and Kyle Simmons, the two idiots who fell in love clumsily and feel awkward displaying their happiness in front of others, and should probably _talk_ more and _hide_ less, the two hopeless lovers who cancel all their plans because they want to repaint the walls of their living room and end up watching Game of Thrones reruns instead, the men who could spend an entire week holed up in bed, too content in each other's embrace to feel any desire to go outside and talk to anyone but the pizza delivery man (or the landlord, if he bothers to check in on them to see if they're still alive).

 

Dan feels like they're at the brink of something new, standing at the edge of a cliff, urged to either make the decision to jump and take the risk of missing the safety net, or scramble back from the great unknown and stay within the familiarity of what they have known to be reliable for a long time.

They haven't decided yet, haven't taken the chance, nor ignored it.

 

Kyle smiles and reaches up to Dan's face, brushes a stray strand of hair from his forehead, and there is such endless _pride_ in his eyes that it leaves no room for any doubts.

And Dan knows, no matter what life may throw at them, no matter the anxiousness, the fear, the external judgement – he's always going to have Kyle.

 _In sickness and health_ , he thinks and doesn't have it in him to feel embarrassed.

 

He doesn't know whether or not Kyle is going to _ask_ _him_ , has no idea what's going to happen next. But Dan will always say yes to Kyle.

 

Yes to finally moving in together, yes to “We should get a cat”. Yes to going to Disneyland Paris for his birthday, even if Dan would have much preferred to have a quiet celebration at home.

Yes to burnt pancakes in bed, yes to the bigger wardrobe that would be taken over by Kyle's mountain of shoes sooner rather than later.

 

Yes to going to Kyle's uncle's sixtieth birthday party and having everyone over the age of forty-five glare at him from around the table disapprovingly. Yes to being Kyle's _plus one_ when he went to his ex-girlfriend's wedding (and awkwardly staring at his uncomfortable shoes all night).

 

Yes to the incredibly ugly rug that Kyle got so excited about in IKEA. Yes to ordering takeaway at the Chinese restaurant that Kyle loved, but Dan hated.

 

Yes to “Can you sing something” when Kyle was bedridden with the flu, clinging on to Dan and coughing miserably, and yes to “Can we watch _101 Dalmatians_ ” for the umpteenth time and feeling a headache blossoming at the back of his head when the cheerful opening tune inspired Kyle to sing along loudly.

 

He's not going to stop saying yes.

He would say yes to “Will you marry me”, would say yes to changing his name (if Kyle wanted him to) and yes to awful yearly celebrations with Kyle's loud, obnoxious, nosy extended family.

 

He would say yes to getting a second cat, even though he felt like the first one hated him, would say yes when Kyle asked him, hesitantly, if their new flat should _maybe_ have a little spare room, _you know, just in_ _case we change our minds_.

 

They _would_ change their minds, and he would say yes when they made the biggest decision of their life.

“Do you think we're ready?” – _yes_.

Dan would be nervous as hell when he held her for the first time, the little white bows on her tiny blue socks absolutely mesmerising, and his heart would skip a beat when she looked up at him with her big, brown eyes, and another when she gripped Kyle's finger tightly, causing the younger man to break into a wide smile.

They would beam at the two men and ask “You ready to take her home?” and Dan wouldn't trust his voice not to break, but in his mind, he would scream _A million times, yes_.

 

 

 

He would always say yes to Kyle Simmons.

 

Except if he wanted another cat.

 


End file.
